Smoke Signals
by Astralis
Summary: Postep for Bloodlines, NS friendship, but read it as you will. Spoilerish for season five, because it was inspired by a Carol Mendelsohn comment.


**DISCLAIMER**: I own nothing, I'm just a poor student

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This was inspired by Carol Mendelsohn's comment about Grissom not being the reason for Sara's drinking, and this is my interpretation of that comment.

* * *

As in any game of Chinese Whispers, the rumours that quickily infiltrated every corner of the Las Vegas crime lab, as well as the police department, had undergone alarming and equally quick changes. By the time the rumour reached Nick Stokes as he returned from a crime scene in the early hours of the morning, the story of Sara Sidle's almost-arrest for driving under the influence had become an actual arrest and the lab tech who told him the tale seemed to be under the impression that Sara was a full-blown alcoholic.

The subject of these excited discussions was at home, on not-so-voluntary leave, half-watching the Discovery Channel and dwelling far too deeply on the rumours, and what had happened to cause them. Grissom, who had insisted on taking her home and had apparently managed not to notice her abject humiliation, had also insisted she get rid of all her alcohol. It seemed he didn't trust her, which was understandable as she didn't trust herself, but it didn't make her feel any better about the situation. Self-pity had its place, but it wasn't helping her any.

Mind-numbing hour followed mind-numbing hour as Sara let endless Discovery Channel shows flash past her eyes. Grissom, in his marching-around-taking-control mood, had clearly not thought of the fact that putting her in exile wouldn't help any. He'd escorted her home, made her hand over her alcohol, and then had basically patted her on the head, told her to be a good little girl, and then dropped his bombshell about "voluntary leave." And so right now she was humiliated, guilty, and bored out of her brains, and had she possessed a bit more energy the local liquor store would have see a bit more of her cash.

The knock on the door that came as Sara was cursing herself for her honesty in giving Grissom _all_ of her alcohol did nothing more than inspire her to greater levels of irritation. People didn't just drop by to see her, and it was highly unlikely that whoever this was had come bearing a gift of alcohol.

It was Nick Stokes, or so she deduced through the peephole. Damn him. She knew Nick and he wasn't going anywhere until he'd got what he wanted. She had no doubt that he'd heard whatever rumours were going round at the lab, and had come here to the truth and probably to tell her off as well. His words after she'd pulled her gun on that suspect following the lab explosion were all too well remembered, and she preferred to think of Nick as an interfering busybody rather than as someone who actually cared. He was one of the last people she wanted to see, and perfectly aware that she was doing it, Sara chose not to focus on the reasons why that was.

She was also aware that she was sulking, but she wouldn't let Nick see that - wouldn't let it get back to Grissom that he'd "won", so she switched on her brightest of fake smiles and opened the door. "Nick!"

He didn't say, "Cut the crap, Sara," for which was she grateful. He came in, even though she hadn't invited him, and when she'd shut the door he said "what the hell is going on?", for which she was _not_ grateful. When she didn't answer he said, "Sara, tell me why half the lab thinks you're an alcoholic."

She knew he was only trying to help, and that he was going on the offensive because he knew she was going to be defensive, and she also knew that he was only here because he cared. Despite what she sometimes chose to think about him, Nick had stood by her side too many times for her to write him off completely. "It's _gossip_, Nick."

"There's no smoke without fire, Sara." His voice was calm and measured and _sensible_, as if he was just laying out the evidence in a case. "It's true, isn't it?"

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters."

Sara turned away from him. Damn him. He was being reasonable and kind and not judgmental or critical, and all she wanted was an excuse to shout at someone, but shouting at him now would just make her feel guilty.

"Sara, I'm your friend."

She kept her back to him, thinking angry thoughts about that promotion that should've been hers - but that was Grissom's fault, anyway - and every time he'd done something to irritate her - but really he'd been comparatively nice to her - damn him!

"Sara, I want to help." Pleading now. "I don't like seeing you like this."

"You don't have to be here."

"I _care_ about you, Sara." Nick paused. Sara heard him draw in his breath. "I heard what happened, okay? And I know that there was no way you were anywhere near the limit when you left Warrick and me. What did you do, Sara? Did you go and have a few more drinks?"

He was divining all her secrets, and she hated it. One of the good things about Grissom was that he only rarely managed to see past the surface, or if he did he only rarely commented. "So what if I did?" Sara's attempt to sound aloof and uncaring was a bitter failure, even to her own ears.

"That wasn't about the promotion thing, was it, Sara?"

"No," she said, and she was almost being honest. "So you don't have to worry. You've done your duty."

"Don't push me away, Sara."

She ignored the tone in his voice, because that was worse than measured reasonableness. "_Or what_?"

"Why haven't you kicked me out yet, Sara?" His voice was soft. Persistent.

Oh, that was a good question, but he wasn't getting her to answer it.

"I'm not here to hurt you, Sara. I want to _help_."

Oh yes, charming Nick Stokes with his white-knight-hero-complex, riding in to save the damsel in distress. That was what he did. Helped people. And if he had an ulterior motive, she didn't know what it was. She wasn't used to men like him. They unnerved her, pushed her off her balance.

"Is this about work? This drinking thing? Look, Sara, I know you haven't had an easy time and I wouldn't blame you if you were just trying to feel better. This - this isn't about _Grissom_, is it?"

Her muscles went suddenly, unwillingly tense. Caught off guard, she answered automatically, "No." And while her mind went into overdrive, wondering why Nick had asked that, of all the million questions there were, some small part of her consciousness realised that she'd just told the truth. It _wasn't _about Grissom. It was thousands of small things, and a few big issues looming like rocks on the horizon, _but it wasn't about Grissom. _He'd lost the power to make her miserable - or she'd lost whatever it was about him that made her miserable.

As had been known to happen at work, her brain zoomed in on that one point. _She wasn't drinking because of Grissom_. Still acutely aware of Nick standing behind her she ransacked her mind. She'd been hoping he'd notice her - but she'd stopped caring if he did. How did that work? How had she lost the desire for his recognition, his love, while at the same time still wanting it? Had she conditioned her mind so much that that was all she could think of, that Grissom was all that mattered? She had a horrible feeling she'd been holding to the prospect of Grissom's idealised love, and at some point had subconsciously realised she wouldn't want it if it was offered. And then she'd just... pretended. Because it was the only thing she knew how to do. "It's not about Grissom," she said firmly.

"Well, that's good." Nick sighed. "Look, Sara - if you really don't want to talk about it - I'll go."

Involuntarily, not knowing what she was going to say or even how she could say it, Sara turned around. "Nick," she said, and caught his arm. "Stay."

* * *

THE END


End file.
